In Wolf's clothing
by phiewdh
Summary: A romantic story with Geralt and Yennefer. With a twist.


Yennefer of Vengerberg was tired. She'd been up way too long studying arcane tomes, waiting for her love to come back to their room in one of the fancier inns of Novigrad. He'd promised her that it wouldn't take too long to sort out the contract, a couple of hours at the most. Telling by the trajectory of the moon, he was late. Very late.

To relieve some stress, and also, because she enjoyed it immensely, she had been drinking some wine while being sprawled out on the chaise longue. She preferred it red. A glass became two, and suddenly the bottle of Erveluce was empty. It tended to happen easily when she was engrossed in her studies. Magic was an art you never perfected, and her thirst for knowledge was insatiable.

Being slightly dizzy, more because of the wine than nothing else, she'd gone to bed. She moaned in appreciation when her naked skin became enveloped by the thick down duvet. Money had never bought her any happiness, except for that unicorn of hers, but it sure made life easier.

She had just fallen asleep, when she heard the door to the room open. Finally.

"Geralt?" Her voice was slightly raspy. She stifled a yawn. She heard him undress. Starting with the swords, as usual, he then continued to undo his armour, piece by piece. She couldn't be bothered to look at the witcher, being on her stomach with her face buried in the abundant sea of pillows. She wanted to drift off to sleep as soon as possible, and moving around would coax her away from the rest she yearned for.

She resided in the borderlands between sleep and alertness, almost hearing the witcher remove his clothes. _Soon_ , she thought. _We'll sleep to noon, at least_.

She felt his hand on her, in the little crease where her rear and thigh met. She felt him trace his finger, from the crease and down her thigh.

She sighed. It was a sigh of love, appreciation, but she was still so terribly tired. And fuzzy.

"Yen." That voice of his. She could never have enough of him. Of anything that was a part him. She was ignited by him, but decided to refuse his invite.

"Geralt," she said, still with her face buried in the pillows, "I waited up for you, but now, I'm tired. Come to sleep, my love."

The witcher removed the duvet, exposing her. She wanted to scold him, but lost her train of thought when she could feel his stubble against the small of her back. He continued to nip her back, all the way up to her shoulder blades.

She cleared her throat slightly, trying to disguise her awoken interest of what was to come. "Do you want to play, Wolf?" She started to shift, she needed to see him. He was indeed helpful, putting one hand on her hip and the other one on her shoulder to turn her around.

They faced each other, her dark locks flowing like velvet over the bed. His white hair being a lovely contrast to hers.

"Wolf," she repeated. "Do you want to play?"

She observed him thoroughly. He seemed taken with her, following her every bare curve with slightly enlarged eyes. Like he was in awe of her. She felt flattered. After so many years, he still had the power to make her feel like it was their first time? She felt wanted. Adored. Like she was his and his alone.

She touched his face, felt his stubble tickle her fingers. She put one hand beind his neck and pulled him down to her, both merging in a passionate kiss. She felt his tongue taste her lips as he withdrew.

"I think," the witcher said with bated breath, "I'd like that."

* * *

And, indeed, they did play.

Yennefer felt the fire within her roar. She wanted more, no everything, he could offer her. And she wanted him to want her. She wanted him to lose himself, like so many times before.

Her chest heaved as he touched her, his face in her hair. Inhaling her scent. The witcher growled slightly into her ear, she responded by embracing him with all she had. Spontaneous combustion from her inner depths.

"Yen," he said, still close to her ear. "What do you want? What do you need?"

She tried to understand what he was saying, her mind clouded by feverish desire and slight intoxication.

"Everything," she replied between breaths. "I want everything you can give me." She felt a sting of egoism. She hastily tried to remember if they ever had reached the ultimate transcendence without the other. Usually they revelled in each other, so why not now?

She was quickly consumed by her lust, letting her witcher satisfy her as he saw fit. He was teasing her with a playful smile on his lips, ignoring her tries to guide him. How different it felt. Not being as one. Not being allowed to take charge.

* * *

A moment later, she was slowly falling sleep, being kept awake only by her lover's tracing fingers.

"Geralt," she said sleepily, feeling a complete calm within her. "Apple juice? Please?"

The witcher sighed, kissed her breast and got out of bed.

* * *

Geralt was annoyed. It was supposed to be a simple job, indeed. The contract said nothing about the spectre of one of the most revered concubines of the Cathrine Bootlegger, just the drowners down by the shore. It had taken too much time since he hadn't prepared, and the pay was an insult.

He saw the inn, just a few yards ahead. _Finally_ , he tought. _Maybe she's awake still?_ He felt slightly aroused when he thought of his sorceress and decided to up his pace.

As he opened the door to the inn, he almost bumped into a young woman. Geralt recognised her, she worked in the kitchen. He let her pass before him, holding the door open for her as she scurried by.

"Congratulations!"

Geralt turned around and saw the kitchen aid stand in the street.

"What?"

"Congratulations! You have a lovely companion!"

Geralt gave the woman a nod and continued inside.

The innkeeper, a big and sturdy man with a nose that looked like a shriveled potato, beamed as he saw him come through the door.

"Oh, if only the missus could moan like that! Let me shake your hand, Master Witcher! Here's the apple juice for the lady." The innkeeper winked.

Geralt took the jug, puzzled. He nodded to the innkeep and walked towards the stairs. Now, what was that all about?

"Oh! Forgive me, Master Witcher," the young woman replied as she bumped into him, carrying plates and silverware. "I wasn't paying attention!"

Geralt raised his gaze and was just about to utter something apologetic himself, when he noticed the young kitchen aid.

"Yen!" He darted up the stairs, taking four steps at a time.

* * *

Geralt flung the door open, adrenaline pumping through him, and woke Yennefer who responded with a shriek.

"Geralt! You scared me, you oaf!" Yennefer's eyes looked like a violet thunderstorm. "I wasn't in such a hurry to get the bloody juice! Now, let me sleep!"

"Are you all right," Geralt asked, panting.

"Of course I'm all right, nothing happened since you walked downstairs!" She paused for a minute. "Why are you wearing your armour again, are you going out?"

Geralt walked the ten steps or so towards the bed and put down the jug with a bang on the bedside table.

"I'll be back. You can go back to sleep, Yen."

He hurried out of the inn, and spun around when he reached the street. His eyes were looking for a sign, anything. No one there, just him and a stray dog or two. _Fuck_ , he thought. _That was... different._ As he walked back to the inn he felt it, although barely. The scent of lilacs and gooseberries in the air.

He got back to their room, which he previously had considered to be their safe haven. He watched her sleep, his lovely sorceress with a sea of black, tousled locks. He bent down and gave her a small kiss on her cheek.

He swore to himself never to speak to Yennefer about what had transpired.

* * *

Somewhere, in the most anonymous place in the whole of Novigrad, hidden away from just about everyone, a doppler opened his notebook and crossed out a name. He felt content. He was indeed a fairy godmother, granting people wishes. Wishes people never knew they had or wanted to acknowledge. Yes, he'd definitely done a marvellous job this night.


End file.
